


Bouquet of Kisses

by Peach_oniisan



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: AKA, Boys Kissing, Drabble Collection, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Fireworks, Flowers, Frottage, Gore as a Love Metaphor, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Smut; finally, The Iron Coffin, Unrequited Love, Virus's Infamous Box
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peach_oniisan/pseuds/Peach_oniisan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unlike his hands, Virus's lips were always warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aoba, a kiss on the fingertips

His touch left a ghost trail over the heavy iron lid.

Blood and rust gathered under long, manicured nails. They scraped the lock without a sound, temptation overflowing, and he leaned close to listen while an eager tongue worried the edges of sharp, serpentine teeth. His features were immaculate, all painted lacquer and silk behind a pair of glasses splattered in red. Rose-coloured lips took the shape of a smile; wet and slightly apart, flavoured with strawberry balm and the charred remains of tragedy.

A bad day at work.

But he was here now, close to his beloved, holding his breath and waiting for his name to emerge from the eerie silence:

“Virus…please…”

A smile blossomed on his mouth, like a flower terrifying, so very unlike the sugary smirks he freely offered from day to day. Aoba’s tears had run out after a single night. On the boy’s hoarse, dry throat the sound of sobbing was simply exquisite.

The pleading voice was barely above a whisper. Muffled. Broken. Aoba scratched on the inside of his iron coffin with no strength left to his limbs. Fear seeped into the air and Virus could taste the salty tang of it from the outside. He could taste it on the boy’s slowed breathing, his haunting stare, his bloodless mouth. Wordlessly, it spoke to him about disgust and despair, and Virus’s smile could only widen at the flattery.

Aoba was ready to part with his pride, his dignity. He had gained enough wisdom in his torment to understand he no longer had a need for these things.

Virus wanted to cradle the famished body in his arms; caress the lines of his ribs and kiss the tears off his face, then peel back his skin, layer by layer, until there was nothing left but clean, white bones and Aoba’s pulsing essence, warm and purified through pain.

He liked to imagine the veins under Aoba’s translucent skin as if they were made of glass. He wished to empty them of blood and fill them with nothing but pleasure undiluted. On some nights, Virus would shamelessly lust after such thoughts, curled in his own bed with a lock of blue hair held to his nose and Aoba’s name on his breath, tainted with unholy reverence and a dreamlike longing.   

The boy’s mind was strong, far beyond his own good, but Virus was there to teach him how happiness could only exist in the absence of free will. Like drowning, the pain would stop as soon as he gave up his struggle.

The water run and Virus washed his hands until all evidence of death was gone. Dressed in a fresh silk tie and shoes newly polished, he walked back into the room that was Aoba’s purgatory and for once he let his steps be heard.

He had rehearsed the scene in his head. Kneeling down to Aoba’s level, he would take his handkerchief out and gently pat at the teary grime. His fingers would move to push aside a wet strand of hair, light enough that the boy would feel neither cold nor pain from his touch. He would lift Aoba’s hands to his mouth, to kiss the tips where the nails had bled, half-torn from their roots. He would speak in a voice soaked in hurt and concern.

_____  "Aoba-san, promise you won't make me do this again."_

Then lift him up in his embrace, to be washed and fed and loved until first morning light.

His captive bird was ready to rejoin the living, rise out of the artificial death he had been forced into for three long days. All Virus needed was a moment to straighten his glasses and ensure his hair was in place, so he could look into those golden eyes and be pleased with his reflection.

Metal scraped against metal and the box opened with a long creak. Virus peered through the crack just as the light poured inside. His face was a portrait of uncanny perfection; his gaze a glimmer of happiness, sharp and unblinking. Under a halo of golden hair, he stood at the mouth of hell and looked downwards:

 “Have you learned your lesson?”


	2. Sei, a kiss on the neck

A whimper wakes him in the dead of the night, and Virus realises he is no longer alone in his bed.

Tainted alabaster, he thinks once blonde eyelashes part in the dark. A sick constellation of red and purple marks spread over Sei's arms where the needles had struggled to find a vein. Equally sad and beautiful, it was a small galaxy of suffering, still blossoming hours after the deed was done.

Virus doesn't bother reaching for his glasses or the bedside light. Part of him wants to look, to take it all in, but he knows the princess is likely ashamed. So he doesn't, and merely pulls the covers aside to make space in the warmest part of the bed.

He lets the fragile body nestle between his arms. Sei’s birdlike bones shiver beneath thin cotton and even thinner skin.

Nightmares real and phantasmic haunted the princess's sleep. A common enough occurrence.

A serpent's body didn't have much warmth to offer, but as long as the door remained unlocked, Sei could seek comfort in his warden's embrace. 

"...don't leave me," a muffled cry. Between their bodies, Virus can feel the princess’s deer heart flutter. 

Delicate fingers are entwined in his sleeve and Virus gently moves to untangle them. A hidden smile, a gaze of reassurance and the princess's name is like a prayer on his breath:

"Sei-san..."

Buttons click open and all useless fabric pools on the floor. Indulgence soaks the dark sheets, and yet Virus cannot bring himself to feel guilty. The back of his hand traces a line along the boy's gossamer limbs; a wintry trail from naked arm to naked shoulder, until he is brushing the hair away from the princess's neck. 

He places a kiss there, between the raven locks, fully aware that his own lips are flushed with the shameless heat of alcohol. 

Under his touch, he can feel the boy shudder. Like a flower wilting for the longest time, Sei carried with him the sickly sweet scent of decay, of corruption, of an innocence trampled and torn apart between the jaws of the unworthy. 

It was impossible not to want him.

Pulling the small body close, Virus laces their fingers together and leans in to whisper against the princess's trembling pulse:

"...I would never even think it."


	3. Interlude

** "So how do you feel about the twins?" **

Virus lifts his eyes; like the cloudless summer skies, his  
gaze is warm and clear. The faintest smile appears  
on his lips, warming his face alongside the  
spark of something untold.

"Our prince and princess are both very precious to me."  
  
His lips curl up in a practiced manner.   
  
He crosses his legs and pushes up his glasses, making  
a polite gesture at the teapot as he wordlessly  
offers another serving.   
  
"Their existence alone is a wonder. The mere act  
of breathing sets them far above anything  
you or me could aspire to."  
  
Wrapping two hands around his own cup, he takes   
a moment to blow the steam away before taking a  
careful sip. The hedonistic fragrance of bergamot  
and rose spreads through the air and Virus is suddenly  
grateful he bothered buying the more expensive blend.

"Being in a place where I can bask in their light, even  
briefly, is a blessing."

* * *

_ The world does not deserve them._

_ And neither do I. _

_ But if I could, I would never share them with anyone again. _

_ The sun and the moon would have to seek permission to gaze upon their beautiful faces. _

 

 

 

 


	4. Another Virus, a kiss in a dream

_      A dream within a dream._

And when I caught sight of your blue eyes -the perfect curve of your shoulders, the flaxen sheen of your hair- I could not help but recognise you. 

_      We know each other. We have both been here before._

From my languid place on the velvet divan, I rose, and watched as my steps took me across the room. Pleated ivory and perfumed smoke danced at the edge of my vision, next to swaying bodies too irrelevant for a second glance. 

_      A masquerade for the lost and the impure.  _

Under the faint light of dying candles, I moved towards you. On my back I could feel the longing of strangers burning through silk and skin; the scalding gaze of dancers and slaves dressed in white lace, eager to tear into us both. Teeth snapped at me with no sound, but I could only ignore them as I walked to where you stood, next to a window stretching from ceiling to floor, bathed in the glow of stars that only existed in our shared delusion.

The animal masks were only there to highlight who we truly were. There was no need to know, no need to remember who had come into your embrace at the height of intoxication. Drunk on a red vintage and the moonless night, we were far more honest than we cared to admit.

_      But in this haze of broken smiles, you were the only one I wanted._

Ours was a venomous embrace; an entanglement of serpents in the dark. We joined hands with effortless grace and a regal air no one around us could hope to imitate. 

"May I have this dance?"

Flowing around each other like water, it shouldn't take a wise man to see our bodies were made to move together. Blood-red shirts with gold and silver accents; black leaves blossoming over dark silk, the delicate embroidery a fitting companion to feathered raven masks. Was it by fate's whim that our outfits matched?

_      I was willing to believe._

My breath was already caressing the smirking curve of your mouth when mischief pulled at the strings of my rotten, greedy heard. I wasn't ready for this to end, so I pulled away just as the music ended, every fibre of my being beckoning for you to seek me out. 

Cold fingers slid from shoulder to forearm and I reached to touch your hand, my smile unbroken and my eyes never separating from yours. Wordlessly, I brought it to my lips and found it warm; most definitely a dream. 

Neither of us spoke, but a thousand words were contained in our silence and I knew you could hear them all. 

_      My inverted reflection, we will meet again._

 

 


	5. Trip, a kiss in secret

Another tea before dawn; the warmth of your smile poured into a cup and I know it's simple pleasures such as these that make us comfortable in our closing distance.

___     Should I tell you? _

About how little sleep matters to me when the first light of morning drifts through the window; that sliver of gold above the crowded rooftops, the tangled wires, the fading neon. 

About the way the sunlight catches on your long eyelashes when you turn towards it; how it stretches into a kaleidoscope of faded triangles, casting new shadows upon your face and revealing the hint of red on your jaw. 

Morning clothes always drape loosely around your frame; crisp white shirts and oversized sweaters; cheap cottons infused with the scents of your body in sleep. You stretch your shoulders and yawn, and I catch my tired self wondering if you are big enough now for me to curl onto your lap and fall asleep against the curve of your neck.

_      Just like you used to do, with me._

When the words begin to blur on the page and my mind swims in and out of focus, are you the one to lift my hand off the desk? Untangle the pen from my fingers and carry me to bed?

My reports are riddled with errors and all the references are wrong, but you will only listen to so much before nodding with an absentminded smirk. I want to be angry -at your dismissal, you casual childishness- but I can feel you pull the glasses off my face and massage the reddening bridge of my nose and all my scathing commentary is lost on its way.

A quivering warmth, light as a butterfly's wing, flutters close to my lips. For a single moment, between wake and sleep, I will know what you've done and I will sigh against your mouth, in exhaustion and relief. 

The tea dries at the bottom of my cup; powdered valerian root settling beneath the floating jasmine. For my own good. You will tell yourself so and believe it, even as you collect your reward in the midst of my fading consciousness.

We've always liked to pretend and who am I to disappoint? 

_      By the end of this morning ritual, I will remember nothing _


	6. Trip, a kiss on the lips

_      I could not even hear the music anymore.  _

Stepping outside the sterile environment of the bathroom, the sights and sounds were almost overwhelming. Then my predatory gaze found you and the beat of the bass was finally in sync with the throbbing in my veins. 

Euphoria washed over the senses, dulling everything that was not aligned with the pleasures of the moment. Numb in some places, oversensitive in others; my feet walked me in a steady trance towards the outline of your body; a pure dark silhouette, swaying against the pulsing light.  

Two lines; the red stuff we saved for special occasions, snorted through a straw. I had wiped the tiniest bit of blood from my nose, but it was worth it. All worth it, just to hear the colours vibrate and watch the dance floor sink into the abyss, leaving no one but you and me behind in a mess of glittering ruin. 

Sparks flew as I pushed you against the wall and I no longer knew if it was the fever in my blood or the narcotic luminescence playing games with my mind. 

_ So rare of me to want you so bad._

“No. Here.” My voice was heavy with an urgency I’m unused to, fingers already digging into the fabric of your shirt and only the faintest traces of decency stopped me from tearing it open. On your lips I could taste the flavours of desire turned to ash -burned sugar and sins long forgotten. 

You were ready, but I teasingly breathed in your frustration, mouth barely brushing against yours as we both waited for your patience to run out. I reached to loosen your belt and no one was looking, drunk as they were on pulsing lights and vacant promises. But once we were both relieved of zippers and buttons, I was left restless in the heat.  

I wanted to be seen, and have them admire the flush on your cheekbones; the soft bruises on your neck, the gorgeous curve of your hips in a pair of jeans far too tight for you. 

“Louder,” my own voice was but a whisper in your ear, but in my selfishness I wanted to hear you moan. Restraint was not a virtue I believed in, not now, and when your hand joined mine I knew that neither body nor mind would last long. 

 **__** _  don’t stop _

_                don’t stop  _

_                           don’t stop  _

A familiar grunt shuddered through your chest and I felt your grip tighten around both of us. Lightheaded, I cast aside all remnants of false dignity and let my nails sink into your sides. 

Did you kiss me then? I can’t remember. Immersed in the depravity, no sound was left in me other than heavy breathing, until I noticed the pearly white between our hands and a fit of giggles erupted against your shoulder. 

“Come back with me,” I said, and in that moment I realised I was high as hell but my husky voice made me laugh and the night was still young. “We can find an empty stall.”  

_      If I don’t get fucked tonight, I will go insane. _


	7. Toue, a kiss on the hand

_      I could never be angry at Toue._

When I first had to stand before him at the age of thirteen and show off my new eyes, I knew I held no grudge for what he had done to me.

When he put his hand on my hair to congratulate me -on making it this far, on keeping my sanity, on not going blind, on not losing my sense of self amongst the numbers marking my collar- there was no resentment to be found in me. Within my own dignified air, I bowed my head slightly and he smiled at my childish display of elegance.

Thank you, he spoke, for being so brave. For enduring so much. Your pain will buy happiness for all of humanity.

_      I knew._

We were all offerings to a cause, and I was old enough to understand; a long line of sacrificial doves, torn to pieces every morning and sewn together every night, from now until the end of forever. All to bring a quantum of calm into this turbulent world.

"If it would make a thousand years of peace, would you destroy an innocent life?"

Such a basic moral dilemma and yet, the simplicity of it eats away at the common mind. Delusions of transcendence -on decency, integrity, justice- shortcircuit each other, until we are left with nothing but flustered faces and scandalised looks.

"No, not me. I would never— "

I may or may not have asked this very question myself, between my fourth and fifth cup of umeshu. But even amongst the yakuza, the image of a child being drawn towards a slow, agonising death is enough to throw the table in silence.

_      Toue was educated beyond such pretences._

The blood of the pure was just another bargaining chip in his celestial gamble, his ideals impossible to trim down to the standards of the commoner.

Morality has always been transient, utilitarian. It has to be agreed on; its contradictions ignored; its conflicts negotiated; its values assigned in accordance with the time and place.

_      Foolishness runs deep, however._

Even Toue -a living deity amongst men, making and breaking rules at will and dealing his own hand of cards- made the mistake of falling for the romance of absolute truth, absolute happiness.

So I stood before the father I was taught to revere my entire life and kissed his noble hand; a gesture of compassion for one doomed to a bad end.

Unlike most people, when he died he intended to deserve it.

_      It was the one thing we always had in common._


	8. Trip, a kiss in despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [No explicit content, but trigger warning for underage kissing and implied childhood sexual assault. This is written as tragedy, rather than a romance but if you find the content disturbing in any way, please skip to the next chapter.]

I remember the moment when you began to speak my name in an entirely new voice -hushed and restless in the dead of the night, as you sought from me something you didn’t have a name for.

You were outgrowing your own body, writhing in your own flesh as knobby knees and scrawny arms slowly disappeared, replacing your natural boyish charm with awkwardness.

_      I didn't want to look._

I pretended to be asleep, but you held on to me. I wanted to kick you out of the bed, but your touch -so heavy with the scent of despair- stuck to my skin, forcing me to see you for what you really were in this prolonged state of becoming.

Your entire face was growing more angular with every passing day. It wouldn’t be much longer before the boy I knew was gone, replaced with a stranger I wasn’t ready to meet. 

_      It wouldn't be long before the others took notice either._

You climbed into my bed and sought my body with your eyes, my lips with your own. At seventeen, I was neither untouched nor innocent -my own mind had long since separated physical contact from intimacy or pleasure. I didn’t expect your hands to stir anything in me, but your bewildered gaze trembled with something soft and unknowing - _unbroken_ \- that I felt the need to keep alive.

_      And keep for myself._

I breathed in the milky scent of your skin and let you come close to me. Underneath our shared fear and the tang of nervous sweat was something new and sweet and exciting. 

Deep down, a hint of disgust emerged in the pit of my stomach, but I was quick to push it away. It could never be any other way with us. You were mine, you always had been. If I could brand you with the memory of my touch, then maybe you would stay and continue to fill that void in my existence that had taken your shape over time.

"Are you scared?”

_      You denied it again and again, even as we both knew it to be true._

“I want to be close to Virus,” you said. That childish stubbornness never left you.

Your mouth felt so small against mine. I watched your lips part and in that moment, I was torn between wanting to lie there and admire your ephemeral beauty, savor your taste with the lightest of touches and devour you, piece by piece. 

Like a flower coming into bloom, you spread your being open before me -all flushed cheeks and broken, breathless sentences, immaculate and fragile and full of promise. 

I felt dirty -not because I was kissing a child, but because my own lips had been dragged over filth more times than I could remember.

_      You are so good with your mouth, Virus._

I could hear these old words echo through my mind; ghosts of a not-so-distant past where I had to kneel between someone else’s legs and learn to satisfy. 

_      You are so good with your mouth._

Their voices were always accentuated with a particular kind of laughter. In that moment, however, when I put my hand in your hair to pull you close, I knew my mouth was a refined tool I could use to carve my memory on yours.

I continued to hold you as my name died on your lips, listening for your breathing until you were asleep and our shared heartbeat faded into the silence of the night. 

In that moment I had no idea why you came to me or why you stayed.

_      I didn't care._

In that god-forsaken place we only had each other.


	9. Trip, a kiss promised

_Crimson. Ivory. _

A child, I opened my door to find you spitting out a mouthful of blood; a pair of freshly broken teeth lying at your feet and we both knew they didn’t belong to you.

A waste of flesh, just like the rest of us. But you refused to be a number. There was weight to your step, a roar trapped in your chest. You always took more space than you were entitled to. 

And you never left my shadow since.

Do you remember? When I used to joke about the inferno burning in the pit of your stomach? Your insatiable desire to consume—  
_  
__sweets_

_              bodies _

_lives_   


—never proved me wrong. In time, I watched your bones set and your jaw harden, and your mere presence coming to command awe. But I’ve never seen you lie so calm.

The stillness doesn’t suit you. 

In this wretched rain, I lean close and your name grows bitter on my lips. I lift your hand and find it heavy -heavier than I remember- and almost as cold as mine. Years and years of tearing lives asunder and your scarred knuckles never healed. 

I want to take you home, but I know our house is one I can never return to. Briefly, I wonder if the slumbering beast you left behind will emerge from sleep to seek his master, and inwardly I laugh at the futility of such a thought. Just like us, allmates never had real loyalty. 

"Trip..."

I have no choice but to leave you behind. Your mouth tempts me for a kiss, but the scent of death lingers around you, so I brush my lips against the back of your hand. On the torn skin I can taste a life with no regrets.

"...I kept my promise."

_You would never have to know a life without me. _


	10. Another Virus, a kiss in a nightmare

_   The world was inside out. _

Like the faulty neon lights in the Old District, everything was bathed in unnatural, flickering colours. An old monitor, and in the midst of this broken reality, I stood and soaked in the noise.

Humanoid shadows moved past me -weightless, as they glitched in and out of existence- and I looked for a way to orient myself, but there was none. Blinded by the haze, I looked around without seeing, and let aching feet guide me through labyrinthine streets, into what was undoubtedly a deeper level of madness.

_   No one had a face, except for me. But wasn't it always this way, somehow? _

Around me were streets crowded with buildings and signs misaligned. A monstrous attempt at artificial happiness, manufactured warmth; a Babel made for the poor, stretching up to the heavens to swallow the stars while the remains of humanity writhed deep inside its bowels. The aesthetic dissonance disgusted and fascinated me.

There was something I was meant to be doing. There was a purpose to me being here, but for everything that was holy, I couldn’t remember. My head was swimming in intoxicated haze, a sick shade of red still staining the inside of my nose. But once I saw you, I smiled.

_   My inverted reflection, we meet again._

There was no way to tell the passage of time in a dream. A voice told me I should be disturbed, unsettled by this meeting, but there was none of that. Only a shared shade of blue, sparking and pulsing in the dark, alongside a desire to look and look into your eyes until time itself ended.

We had been called many things over the years -cold, monstrous, inhuman- but no one had the audacity to deny the depths of our gaze. Our wintry eyes had crippled fragile egos and drained words of denial, broken hearts and shortened breaths. For all means and purposes they had served us well. 

_   Everyone’s existence should be dark without us. _

A step closer, then another. It wasn’t a secret, my close relationship with mirrors. There was never an occasion when my reflection, broken or intact, wouldn’t catch my gaze. We held each other, almost nose to nose, fingers cold and fine-boned moving to lace over ivory skin.

“You are beautiful,” I said and you replied from a breath’s distance:

“Of course you are.”

On the surface there was nothing but vanity. Further down, there was a desire to remember; to keep a tangible memory of my features before decay or surgery altered them again.

We spoke and the same melodic voice came from two directions.

"Do you see any flaws...? Be honest. Tell me.”

None of them mattered, even if I did. My hand moved to straighten your glasses, tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Lovingly, I stroked the side of your face as if it was natural to do so. My fingers wandered towards your neck where I knew sweat always curled the softest of pale blonde locks.

_   Even at our worst, we were impeccable. _

We pulled each other close with unintentional force, lingering doubt trailing behind mouths far too impatient to taste this feverish dream. Our circumstances never mattered. Our meetings were never meant to be sane. Reality bent to let us into each other’s arms and we made it our lives’ purpose to pay it back in kind; to consume every manner of depravity and be remembered, now and always.

“Why are you here?”

_Why am I?_

Amidst our kisses the air trembled with mordant laughter and your tongue darted out to seek the sweet residue of wine.

Unlike my hands, my lips were always warm. Or so I had been told by the select few who had the privilege of touching them. Like you, I would bite them in my most vulnerable moments, lick them when I was most pleased. My kisses would be rare and laced with a poison saved for the most intimate of lovers.

“Would you like to know?” you whisper close to my ear.

Your smile showed teeth I didn’t remember. Against the frigid surface of your fingertips, my cheeks felt almost hot and in that moment I began to truly understand what the lesser people experienced under touch such as ours.

“We are here, my love, because we are alone.”


	11. Interlude

** "What would you do if Trip died? "  **

Virus lifts his eyes; like a terrible sea set on fire, his   
gentian gaze is blazing with irritation.

He swirls the honey-coloured liquid in front of him, slow   
and gentle, but his fingers grip the glass as if he would   
rather gouge your eyes out.

Through the haze of loathing and intoxication, he manages  
a smile, and takes another sip. You can imagine the heat  
spreading through his empty chest; the sweetness coating   
his venom-tipped tongue while scathing words coil and twist  
around it, eager to lash out at the smallest provocation.

When he finally speaks, his tone is devoid of malice and yet  
low enough that even behind the barrier of your  
facelessness, you understand that your words struck  
a hidden cord and if you know what is best for you, you  
will keep your silence.

* * *

_ This is no longer a hypothetical question. _

_ Like a blazing star, he emerged from the dark without warning. _

_ Only to burn out and disappear again before I had the time to take in all that he was.  _

_ A fleeting moment in time, another transient existence. _

_ We both knew he wasn't meant to last.  _

~~_ Nothing beautiful ever is. _ ~~


	12. Sei, a kiss before the fall

_   A thousand empty smiles. _

Platinum Jail was a lustrous sea of vapid beings, minds so foggy in their forced state of happiness that meaningful interaction had long been rendered impossible.

Virus watched the intoxicated crowd move and sway around the Princess, as the latter stood alone; bathed in the light of an artificial sky and an ocean of stars that had never existed.

_It was almost time._

The warden’s steps were quiet, his movements lost amongst the collective excitement as one frigid hand found another under the dimming lights; cold fingers intertwining idly just as the countdown began.

“Happy new year, Sei-san.”

The words had been muttered, soft as a butterfly’s wing and Virus waited for the Princess’s head to turn, before his mouth captured hers.

_   Smooth. Warm. _

A scent of wild rose and almonds lingered on flush skin and Virus cant his head with a deep sigh; one that he was holding in for the entire year.

On Sei’s tongue he could taste the passage of time and the change of seasons. Under his diaphanous skin, Virus could feel the force of life itself pulsing in brutality and selfishness; spreading new leaves through the boy’s veins, sprouting flowers in his eyes, thorns inside his bones.

A princess holding reign over humanity itself. A lesser god made out of glass, not made to last but to perish alongside a tower destined to fall. 

_   And yet, in that single moment under the crackling fireworks, he was mine. _

 


End file.
